


P.S. It's Dex

by mvtthewmurdvck



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Co-workers, F/M, First Dates, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, Romantic Fluff, Workplace Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-13 03:21:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16884690
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvtthewmurdvck/pseuds/mvtthewmurdvck
Summary: You like Dex. Dex likes you.But how will the two of you both realise this?





	1. Chapter 1

On Y/N’s first day, Dex spotted her immediately.

It could have been because she was taken around the room before she was introduced to him. Or because she stood in front of him, clutching a notebook in her hand with a large smile on her face. And it could have been because she looked radiant, full of joy and like someone who would rain happiness into the sea of darkness and crime that lived in the city. 

Dex considered it was because she asked him directly what he wanted to be called, in the  _sweetest_  voice he had ever heard. No one really asked him that before, usually knowing who he was before they had even been introduced. Dex spotted new members immediately, they always stuck out, seemingly out of place. It usually irked him, but Y/N didn’t. 

Her reputation was something she shied from, something that split the office. Some found it endearing that she didn’t attempt to pull rank, even after all she had achieved; others found it typical, assuming she was embarrassed or worried what they’d think. Dex knew it was neither of those things, Y/N took pride in her work and didn’t feel the need to show off. He snapped the pencil he had been holding in half as he listened to his colleagues, realising quickly he had become enthralled by the new female agent rather fast. He also found her handshake to be firm, a welcomed surprise with how delicate her voice sounded. He wondered if she was an enigma, and what on earth he had done to be blessed with her presence.  

Immediately, Dex became protective over her within their first month—which roughly translated to him always  _offering_  to be her partner, even if neither of you ever  _needed_  partners. The two of you bonded quickly over the second month, and while most of the office thought something was going on, it didn’t matter how many times the two of you  _denied_  it, he always found himself awkwardly smiling when the topic came up. It could have been because her cheeks and ears turned pink, or her eyes always seemed to find his with a twinkle in them, or, most probably, it was because he knew behind that sweet voice and joyful exterior, she could have any of these men on their fronts begging for her to release them.

She wasn’t just someone who made his day a  _little_  easier, she was someone he admired.

“So, Poindexter,” Y/N said smugly, averting her eyes to the computer. “Do you want me to fill you in on how  _boring_  my evening was, or get straight down to business? Remember, you’ve chosen poorly before and had to listen to a thirty-minute conversation about the romantic film I watched the other night…”

Raising his brow, Dex leant back in his chair twisting a pen in his hand between some of his fingers. He liked listening to her talk, finding her voice soothing as she told stories that seemed to last forever, but never felt like they were long enough. 

Using his free hand, Dex brushed his fingers through the front of his hair. “Knowing you, L/N, you really want me to go straight to business, but you’ve got me intrigued today…” He watched as her face drained, the colour vanishing from her usually rosy cheeks. “Evening. I choose your  _evening_ , so hit me.”

Sighing, she clicked the spacebar several times and Dex forced himself to bite the inside of his mouth to refrain from laughing. He could understand how criminals never saw how lethal she was at the first meeting, something they all regretted within five seconds. You were cute, soft at times. Y/N wasn’t like the others who worked here, or even him, her heart was so large and her emotions were always on her sleeve. It made her good at her job, even frustration, annoyance and Dex’s good friend impatience looked more delicate on her.

“You  _really_  want to know?” she asked, a pleading look in her eye. 

Dex thought of putting her out of her misery, but he had listened to the other men talk about how their wives never felt listened too, and Dex didn’t want Y/N to feel like that with him. He bowed gently, rotating the pen between his index finger and his thumb as he stretched his spine. 

“Fine, I used a dating app and arranged to go out for food with a man I’ve  _never_ met. Which, firstly, I should know better and probably should have done a background check on, but… ugh, this is the  _worst_.”

He shouldn’t have been surprised about the date. Even Dex could see she was beautiful, and not just on the inside. But he  _was_. Promptly, he felt anger and jealousy. Y/N was his… friend. She shouldn’t be out, making other…  _friends_. And he wanted to say that, even though he knew he shouldn’t, even as it rose up in him, twisting around his throat, making him hot and uncomfortable as he shifted in his chair.

“And then, to  _make_  matters worse…” she shook her head, her cheeks darkening in embarrassment. “I got stood up and had to eat  _leftover_  pizza—which I’m pretty sure was way past its eat-by-date. So, not only is my dating life a living disaster but I’m pretty sure I’m going to have digestive issues later on this afternoon. I’m never doing it again…” Her eyes met his, sadness hanging in them like a portrait. “I nearly called you to meet me, but… didn’t want to bother you.”

Dex waited, the pen in between his fingers halting as he briefly tore his eyes from hers. The words, ‘How could you ever think you were bothering me’, sat burning on the edge of his tongue, but with the anger in his chest, and her firm telling off the last time he snapped, he chose to swallow them. 

Instead, Dex tried to cope. Tried to bring himself back to his centre, tried to remember that Y/N was a good person, with a good heart, and she had led him down from snapping once before, but he didn’t deserve that again. 

He focused on scanning her desk with his eyes, finding  _nothing_  out of place, no post-it note with a number or a hint of her dating at all. He suspected that was why he felt the sudden hammering of emotions, there had been no sign. No hint at her even thinking of finding someone to hang out with on the outside of this place—outside of seeing him.

Just a tidy,  _organised_  desk—one even Dex didn’t mind sharing with.

“Yeah,  _exactly_ ,” she added bitterly. “I know, I’m a fool—”

Dex sat forward, dropping his pen down, realising his mistake immediately. “ _No_! You are—you’re far from that. I just… that  _must_  have been really  _hard_.” She shot him a look, one Dex could have described as a glare, but with your wide-eyes, it just seemed like a poignant stare. “I’m  _serious_ , Y/N. It must have been a  _really_  bad night.”

Y/N melted, her shoulders sinking as her expression softened. “It’s embarrassing. It isn’t like we get a lot of time off to even have a social life, never mind find time to actually have a date. And then I do, and the person clearly walked in, took one look at me and left.”

“Maybe they just got caught up doing something?”

She smirked. “The most cynical—while also the  _only_  person I know to view the word in black and white—is defending the  _asshole_  who stood me up? God, I must have woken up on the wrong side of the bed.”

Dex chuckled, wiggling the mouse as his computer screen lit back up. “What was on your pizza?”

“Not  _bloody_  broccoli, I’ll tell you that,” she teased pulling a file from her tray as she opened it on her desk. “I’m convinced that you only eat that because some woman  _pressured_  you into enjoying it. Pizza, by the way, is meant to be greasy and  _extremely_  unhealthy.”

Grabbing the elastic band ball, Dex began to roll it under his palm on the desk. He always found it soothing, he had done since she had gifted it to him. He had watched her make it slowly over six months, never knowing it was for him until she threw it at him. Y/N explained only after he caught it that she had begun to make it after she got annoyed that he always asked her for one. He didn’t inform her of the reason he did that, and she never worked out that Dex only asked her so much to have a conversation starter, never sure how to ask her about her day or her weekend. It was easier now, they were close, possibly friends.

“Maybe I just  _like_  broccoli. You considered that,  _L/N_?”

She pouted as she slanted back in her chair. “Oh, I  _love_  broccoli. It is my favourite tree, but,  _Agent_  Poindexter,” she said with a tease to her tone, “it doesn’t  _fucking_ belong on pizza. It needs gravy, and chicken. Which does  _not_  go on pizza—what goes on pizza is some sort of meat or even extra cheese. Or if you’re feeling especially adventurous, you can even have a meat party on your pizza.” She flicked over the page in the file, her eyes casting over something. “Broccoli is  _offensive_  to pizza, and I’ll hear no more on it.”

* * *

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

The end of your shift brought such relief you stood for a second outside the building, your eyes staring up at the night sky as you let out a difficult breath. You had been staring at your computer screen for three days straight, grasping all the overtime you could in the hope of burying your hopeless love life. Even the few times you went home to sleep, you found your eyes staring at your phone, not being allowed the freedom of rest. 

You knew you had been carrying far too much on your shoulders, trying desperately to put your feelings to the side for the sake of a happy work-life balance. Worsened by the fact it all seemed to no avail. Nothing ever felt easier, and now, after all, you had worked over the last month, even your spine had begun aching from the chair as you worked through evidence after evidence. You hadn’t found yourself coming close to closing a case—far from it, even—but at least for a day now you would be free from work. 

Or  _you_  hoped. 

Dex, as always, made the day go a little quicker when he was there, even if you found yourself occasionally staring at him when he was in deep thought. Being a Special Agent meant you weren’t always fixed at your desks, but thankfully the two of you barely spent a lot of time apart. You could never admit it—too much time had passed for it not to be weird now—but you had a large crush on him, one that didn’t seem to budge. You always had since the first month you had started.

The first day you had laid eyes on him you wondered how the  _hell_  he was still single, and your curiosity only worsened as the first two weeks went on. It took a while for him to speak up, keeping himself to himself in between working out in the field. You weren’t much of a field agent, you had a mean shot, but nothing like the record that Dex held. You were faster with computers, analysing data and sorting evidence—you suspected it was why the two of you were sat together. The sharpshooter and the sharp mind, you didn’t mind that others called you both that, but Dex did.

His  _defence_  over you made the crush only worsen, and when he progressed from asking for stationery items—coming from the most organised man you had ever met—to an actual conversation, you realised very quickly how deeply placed you were in the friend-zone. You tried to admit you didn’t mind, but you did. It hurt; the stinging feeling having buried itself so deeply within you that a mere brush of his eyes over you made your chest feel like it had been stabbed a thousand times. You couldn’t protect yourself from it, not when the two of you ended up working late and he told you about his diagnosis. 

If anything, his honesty only made you feel more for him.

You also refused to be someone that left him, choosing to hurt yourself rather than becoming someone who hurt him.  

Your childhood friend, Dani, had tired out from listening to you talk about him, her gentle jokes about you asking him out or just telling him had worn thin, and you quickly began avoiding conversations about him where you could. It was Dani who had brought up the idea of you dating other people, offering the thought that dating someone else may help you to get over Dex. You knew you, and you knew it wouldn’t work like that, so you focused entirely on work.

Then you found your stride in your job, and the loneliness began to settle in even thicker, and you tried to take her advice. Tried being the optimal word.

As you pulled your eyes from the sky, thankful that at least today you had the courage to log in to the dating app and delete it. You had promised yourself over lunch that you’d rather do it the old-fashion way, not wanting another evening like the one where you were stood up. You had little confidence left, and you didn’t need a bad date taking that from you. 

Letting your shoulders sag, there wasn’t even an excitable bubble within you about going home, finding it rather depressing that you had to go home to an  _empty_ apartment with an even  _emptier_  fridge. You hated to be so negative, to allow misfortune and bad circumstances get you down—especially when you saw daily the way you should be fortunate. You had air in your lungs and a job you loved, your husband or wife hadn’t gotten lost in bad deals and brought danger into your home. Least it was one thing you could thank loneliness for, you didn’t have to worry about what someone  _else_  was doing. 

It didn’t stop you from feeling sad— _deflated_.

You were so lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear footsteps approach or feel the eyes of someone fixed on you. You didn’t feel them approach silently, and by the time you did, that someone's’ breath was behind you, all being too late to grab your gun—to do anything except turn and meet their eyes.

“Poindexter?”

He frowned. “L/N,” he grinned as he nodded in greeting. “Thought you left a while ago?”

Your hand reached for your chest, rolling your eyes as you tried to calm your raging heart. “I… I saw someone on the way down, got chatting about—well,  _nothing—_ and then I just like to take a minute, thank the stars for another day I’m breathing and all that.”

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost, not got a lung full of ‘fresh’ air” Dex teased, grinning as he put his hands into his jacket pockets.

Your lips twitch, wanting to spread into a smile, but they struggle. You want to explain that the reason you worked so hard to become an agent was to help others—to protect others—especially women. You had heard horror story after horror story, women—and even men—too afraid to walk home at night or have their windows open. You didn’t really want to begin preaching about protecting others when you nearly hadn’t been able to protect yourself, especially when you weren’t more aware, not when you were so trusting of New York.

“ _Y’got_  another date tonight?”

Your eyes narrowed marginally, trying to decipher his tone. It sounded like Dex, but it was more rugged as though it was laced with something sharp, like glass. It didn’t cut you, but it grazed over you. There was no malice to it, but it wasn’t plainly said—or even nice.

Rolling your lips, you kept him waiting a little longer as you allowed a soft smile to bloom over your mouth. “You jealous there, Poindexter?”

Quickly, your cheeks burned. You knew they would be glowing—even in the darkness of the street. You hadn’t known the words were coming, they had rolled from your tongue without thought or restraint, and they punctured the air between you with awkwardness.

Dex took a step closer, non-threatening, but confidence. You only appreciated, as he closed the gap between the two of you, how much taller he was. It seemed nothing when you two were behind a desk or when you were shoulder-to-shoulder as you wore your tactical gear. It just became noticeable now as you sought his eyes for a tell-tale sign of how to take him.

He shrugged, his eyes focused on something down the street as his jaw flexed. “ _Maybe_.”

It seemed rehearsed—something out of a romantic comedy. Dex brought his eyes to meet yours, staring boldly into them like he was possessed by someone other than himself. He was never shy, and always spoke his mind, but not like this—not with this sheer determination. You couldn’t help it, the sight of him looking down at you, the word ‘ _maybe_ ’ rolling and rolling around your mind, you were forced to press your legs tighter together as your knees went a little weak.

“Well, you know you only have to ask,  _Poindexter_. I can supervise you at a meal or  _two_ ,” you said playfully, not wanting to be too out-there.

Dex let out a short laugh. “I’ll let  _you_  buy.”

“Oh, will you now? How  _gracious_  of you, Agent,” you said, nudging him slightly. “If anything, you are  _so_  buying me dinner.”

He raised both his brows as he smiled—a smile that made your heart want to skip a beat, but you forced it not too. You weren’t getting ahead of yourself—you weren’t. You had put that crush firmly in a box with the promise it would never come out. Dex was being nice, that was all he was being. Just… nice. Kind. Maybe even friendly. But it was nothing more.

His hand reached out, brushing a loose curl behind your ear as your lips parted and his eyes burned words into you that you couldn’t translate. His thumb marking your skin forever with his touch as it traced your cheek. 

“Alright,” Dex replied. “I’ll  _buy_.”

Your brows raised, your lips parting even further from shock as you forgot how to  _breathe_. 

“You like Italian  _right_?” 

Your head nodded before you could think, not sure how he picked that up, but then, you did talk about pizza  _a lot._ Especially with  _him_. 

Dex took a slow step back, and your body fell cold as the city air managed to wrap around you. You watched as a confident smirk crossed over his face and you found yourself unable to stop yourself from mirroring it. 

You were doomed. There was no way you were getting over him. 

But maybe you didn’t have too. 


	2. Chapter 2

Dex had never been  _wonderful_  with emotions or the processing of them.

He often felt frustrated, pent-up and on edge when they became overwhelming, and while he didn’t mean too, he often allowed the worst thoughts to break through when he was struggling. Dex wasn’t unaware of his abandonment issues, and he knew because of it, he often distanced himself from others.

He found himself unable to do that with Y/N.

It felt like there was no sunshine—even as it shone above him—when she had a day off that didn’t line up with his. It felt like there was something missing when she was away from her desk.

Dex had always felt those things, especially in his times with Dr Mercer they had only  _intensified_. It hung in the air, that feeling, with his mind, always returning to the drawing and how much white there was on the paper. Dex didn’t want to go as far as to say that things were easier when Y/N was around, but they were. He could imagine a sketch of her walking onto the paper, and the white left over wouldn’t seem as much.

He felt calmer, more in control when he heard her voice or had her presence near him. Even hearing her voice talking to someone else in the office or on the phone seemed to focus all the smaller shards of himself back into place. Dex knew he had begun to feel dependant on her

But she was always so full of heart how could he not? Her kindness radiated off her, even in the job they did, and even if sometimes he suspected she was led to much by her emotions. She was unafraid of showing her feelings, and even on the days she said were not her best, she still showed him the same compassion as if they were her good days.

Dex wished, with all he had, that he was a little more like Y/N.

When she returned to work a day later after  _that_  evening, she didn’t mention their conversation. He expected her too, braced for it in fact, but it never came up. Dex wondered, to himself, why she wouldn’t want to know when he was going to take her out, especially since she mentioned she liked plans and organisation. Dex waited an hour, watching as she smirked to herself, her face lighting up when their eyes met. Occasionally, her cheeks would brighten when he laughed before she focused back on the case in front of her. It was hard not to be confused initially, finding the cogs turning but his brain providing no answer on what she wanted.

_“You going to ask me?” She eventually offered, his head turning to meet her stare._  
“Ask you what, Y/N?”  
She laughed, angelic and innocent as her head tilted back, a strand of hair falling over her face when she brought her face forward again. “For the dinner, you promised me?”

He slid the tie through the loop, taking a look at himself as the mess of already tried on shirts behind him began to irk him. They taunted him in the mirror, teasing him with growing creases and the inability to make a decision.

The two of you had agreed on tonight. A date four days after her bringing it up, and four long days of him anxiously wondering what the hell he had gotten himself in for. Dex never usually took a while to get ready, usually only ever choosing a plain white shirt and black trousers, but tonight he wanted to make more of an effort—the only problem being he didn’t know how too. He had sought advice on the side, speaking to Nadeem in passing over his favourite place to eat with his wife, but as usual, provided only old memories that made Dex’s stomach knot, wishing with jealousy he had happy memories himself.

It also irritated him that he had no favourites himself. There wasn’t something he truly loved over anything else, just things he  _had_  enjoyed with others. But they were  _their_  favourites, not  _his_.

Dex had dated, of course. But those relationships never lasted long, fizzling out as the people he chose never seemed invested enough to want to be there for him when it mattered. After the first relationship broke down, Dex was already convinced that any others would follow suit. People never stayed, they always left—and he would always be alone.

Dr Mercer had tried to convince him, when they had sessions together, that with structure and the right person, he could enjoy a normal and happy relationship. He remembered flinching at the word normal, his hand clenching as it stuck into him. He also remembered bitterly telling her that normal wasn’t on the cards for him, because how could he have normal when he was as far from it as he could be. She wasn’t around now to convince him that it was still achievable, she had left him too.

Y/N, Dex knew,  _could_  be different.   
  
She had walked him home after he had been forced to see the department’s therapist. She had made jokes and bought him street food; she even offered to stay and keep him company. Dex hadn’t  _initially_  had the heart that night to tell her how his thoughts had become disorganised, idea after idea pounding into his mind as they raced around, not allowing him to hear. But apparently, he changed his mind quickly when he invited her inside. He didn’t even realise he told her at first, words after words falling from his mouth as she stood in his apartment, using his kettle to make him a drink. It was only when he woke up curled in a ball did Dex find her on his sofa, a blanket over her as she slept soundly in the clothes from the previous day.

Y/N had stayed, even though she didn’t have too.  

The week after she had called him her friend. It made him smile at first, and when he got home and shut the door behind himself, the walls came down. Her voice echoed in his mind as his hand flung the coffee mug into the wall, the pieces shattering over the floor as he grabbed for anything and everything, needing the world to bend and change—needing her to see him for something more. Needing her as something more than a friend.

Dex looked at himself in the mirror, settling his heart rate as it continued to spike. The two of them had come so far, and he tried to focus on that. He tried to remember that tonight he was more than a friend to her, and it had to be perfect, and yet, the itch in his hands began to increase. The feeling of breaking something, of snapping something in half.

He was about to go out and pick her up, take her for dinner, date her. Be on a date with Y/N L/N, he couldn’t lose himself now. He couldn’t take a hand off the rail and lose sight of what was in front of him.  

Smoothing down his shirt, Dex ran a hand through his hair, feeling the dampness of it against his palm as it stood out against the perspiration that had been building. A buzz sounding louder and louder in his ears and for a second, he closed his eyes. He searched, travelling through his mind, searching and needing only her.

Dex found Y/N’s voice from a memory, her smile growing:  _You can do this, Dex. You can do this._

The voice haunted him as he walked out of his building to hail a cab; her words hung around him as the taxi hurried down streets, the lights of buildings and street lamps reflecting off the windows. Y/N’s voice even continued dimly as he rode the elevator up to her apartment, 311. He hadn’t missed that her apartment number was an anagram of his own.

When he stood outside her door, his hand resting on the door frame, his knuckles so close to meeting the wood and announcing his arrival, all Dex wanted to do was run. He wanted to flee and scream, slam doors and put distance between the two of you. He wanted to pull off the shirt that had taken him an hour to choose; Dex wanted to shower and rid the evening from his skin. Dex didn’t want to lose her, even if he hadn’t taken the step to have her.

He was afraid, worried if he had Y/N for a second, he’d never be the same again.

It was the only reason Dex had never told her how he felt. He had sat opposite her, watching her and admiring her; he had found joy in her smile and relief in her presence. Dex couldn’t lose that, he almost needed her—even if he had never had her.

_Do it, Dex. You can do it._

Clenching his eyes shut, praying for the voice to rid, not wanting to snap and ruin the moment—ruin the possibility of what this night could bring. Dex could almost see Dr Mercer, see her eyes looking at him before nodding, convincing him he could do this like he had done so many other things.

So he knocked.

His knuckles meeting the wood with both nervousness and determination as the noise filled the empty corridor, bouncing off each wall until nothing met his ears. His other hand twitched beside him, his fingers instinctively flexing, closing into his palm before releasing.

Dex’s heart was in his throat. It thumped against his voice box, rendering any spoken words lost as he felt his chest begin to tighten, his breathing becoming difficult to find. The world seemed to be sliding, and the need to run increased with every half-a-second as he stood there waiting. He focused on everything, the silence and the calmness, and he wondered if he should have been more prepared, the sting of rejection already settling into his bones because she hadn’t answered her door immediately. Should he have bought flowers? Was that what men were supposed to do? He didn’t know, and as he gave another second Dex tried to swallow as sweat began to build on his spine.

He was fearful a droplet would fall against the shirt, possibly tainting what would be a perfect shirt, for a hopefully perfect night. The longer he tried not to focus on it, the more he did; his thoughts only thinking of the spreading it would do if it landed on the cotton.

He  _needed_  Y/N to answer the door.

Dex needed to see  _her_.

He was vibrating, almost shaking as his feet planted further into his shoes, digging the soles into the carpet. He felt anger, it rose in him like an uncaged dragon, and as he kept his lips closed, all he thought was how far the fire from his throat would cover if she didn’t answer the door.

And then she did.

Dex wasn’t sure he had ever been more grateful for two eyes than he had been in that exact moment because Y/N was breathtaking. Her dress, yellow with thin straps, clung to her waist before falling down to her knees. His eyes danced up and down her frame, Dex had seen her in work clothes and tactical gear, running clothes and jeans, and every time he saw her, he thought she was beautiful, but tonight she was something else. Her hair hung loosely, down in soft curls, half up and half down, and her smile made everything inside of him turn to goo.

“Wow,” Dex breathed, wiping his mouth as he began to smirk behind his hand.

Her cheeks turned a rose colour, making her eyes stand out even more. “Good  _wow_ , or… go get changed, Y/N, who are you  _even_  kidding?”

Dex heard his heart in his ears, a sound he much preferred over the voice and city sounds. “Good wow.  _Definitely_  a good wow.”

Unhooking her coat from beside her, Y/N moved outside of her door as Dex took a step back, watching her lock her door. “I’ve never known you speechless, Poindexter. It’s…  _unnerving_.”

Dex chuckled, reaching for her coat—remembering Dr Mercer from one of their later sessions _. ‘Always offer to help pull a chair out or help a woman in or out of her coat. Kindness and chivalry aren’t dead’._  Y/N looked questionable as she handed it to him, watching as he unfolded it and nodded to her sleeve before she slipped her first arm in.   

Her ear was close to him, her back almost pressed against his chest as her coat slipped over her shoulders. “P.S. It’s Dex,” he said quietly, almost close to a whisper.  

She moved her hair out of her coat, turning to face him as he lowered his arms to his side, regretting speaking already.

“What?” Her lips risen, a coy grin beginning to grow.

Dex licked his lips. “My name. It’s Dex.”

“Now, I  _thought_  it was Benjamin,” she teased. “And… P.S.? Are you teasing me because I like Rom-Coms because, if you are, I swear to  _God_  I am never telling you anything ever again.”

Swallowing, rolling his lips, Dex shook his head. “No,” he said. “I just prefer—for tonight—if you call me Dex. It would  _really_  mean a lot to me.”

Y/N nodded, a light in her eyes he hoped he never extinguished. “Okay, Dex it is.”


	3. Chapter 3

The restaurant was far more beautiful and far more expensive than you expected. You looked down at your shoes, wishing you had purchased something new. Somehow, even though you were stood beside him, you felt as though you didn’t fit in. The walls crawled with money, and somehow you doubted the amount in your bank account would even cover a starter. Moving your eyes from the floor to the walls, your eyes taking a slow sweep of the place.

Ever since you were a child, you had needed to spot exit’s, cameras and doorways. Your dad had teased you as you got older, asking if you were preparing to work for a government agency or the military, he hadn’t been surprised when you told him you were accepted into the FBI after months of secretive days away from home.

You could feel Dex’s eyes on you, watching as you silently counted twelve cameras and a handful of doors, some you knew would be bathrooms. He never made you worried, never made your spine tense or a chill fall over you, he relaxed you, calmed you. Dex made you feel comfortable even if you shouldn’t be.

“I hope this is okay?” he asked somewhat anxiously, and for some reason, it caught you off guard.

Dex was usually a master of masking all of his emotions—seemingly cut off from feelings and nerves—especially when he was out in the field or around you. Everything he did was with precision and care, even down to his movements. It took you by surprise, and you couldn’t fight your lips from rising into a smile as he waited tentatively for your response. If you hadn’t thought he cared before, you realised very quickly that he did now.

“It’s lovely,  _honestly_ ,” you said quickly. “If anything, I think this may be fancier than I deserve.”

Dex didn’t seem soothed, and subconsciously you ran your hand over his arm to reassure him as he seemed to bristle at your touch, as though he hadn’t expected it at all. You were about to speak, finding he too looked ready to denounce something or other—probably tell you that you were wrong and you deserved more—but the waitress thankfully interrupted.  

He moved his arm out from his side, nodding to it as he smiled. “Y/N.”

Sliding your arm in through his, you let out a soft giggle. “Dex,” you replied curtly.

Even though you had thought of Dex, in a more-than-friends-way at least three ways, you still felt the urge to pinch yourself as you were led by him to your table. Your heart was practically in your throat, beating away excitable as you felt eyes move to the two of you as passed table after table.

The first time you thought about Dex was when he decided to help you with your aim. You had pleaded, almost begged him to take you to the gun range and help you perfect your shot. You were good—you knew that—but you wanted to be better, and Dex had a perfect aim every time. Sometimes, you were sure he didn’t even need to think, the gun and his eyesight becoming one as it punched its way into whatever target he chose.

His breath had danced along your neck, your back pressed to his chest, feeling the taut muscles under his shirt as his fingers moved over yours. He was calm, purposefully stern as he spoke lowly into your ear. If the two of you weren’t holding a gun and the building you were stood in wasn’t the agencies, you would have thought it was something straight out of a movie. Dex’s eyes focused on the target, allowing you a brief chance to focus on him. The circles under his eyes, the way his jaw tightened as he guided you to take the safety off, the way his eyes hardened as he stared in front.

The second time, the two of you—and a handful of others—had been on a raid. Your tactical gear was weighing you down, but your senses were alive as the two of you worked your way, clearing rooms together. He had called you mouse because you made so little sound, your element of surprise catching those who remained off guard; you called him Bullseye because his aim was so good, he stopped those who tried to run with one shot. Your confidence had gone to your head, but thankfully not enough to miss the target as you pushed open the door, quick thinking as your gun was knocked from your hand. One-on-one combat was your forte, up close and personal—not allowing them to shy from the fact you were _a, a woman and b, a fantastic fighter._  Dex had entered the room as you pushed the target’s face to the ground. He looked at you with a glaze to his eyes, a pained expression in his forehead as he straightened his spine.

“You good?” He had asked, never having done so before.

You had simply nodded, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand.

“Here’s your table,” the waitress said, the sound of glasses clinking and mid-level-chatter returned to your ears as you found yourself back in the present. “We’ll be over to order your drinks shortly.”

Dex nodded at her, his jaw tensing and un-tensing, as his hand twitched by his side, unwilling to let your arm slide out from his. You held your bag over your waist, trying to smile through your nerves as Dex didn’t dare meet your eyes. You wanted to be funny, say something that would dispel the tension, but you found nothing came to mind—rendered silent by a restaurant.

Moving his arm from yours, you offered a gentle smile as Dex hesitated between sitting down and standing. You didn’t think anything, not entirely sure yourself what you should even do until he cleared his throat and pulled out your chair.

“You didn’t have too,” you said, your cheeks burning.

Dex’s thumbs brushed your shoulders as you seated yourself down. “I  _wanted_  to, Y/N.”

The third time was when the two of you went for drinks. You introduced him to a bar near your place and didn’t shy away as 90s classics belted out and the drinks, thankfully, were always cheap. Dex laughed, the weight of your job falling from your shoulders as he kept his eyes on you as you won him over with a rendition of Genie In A Bottle. It was the night he told you about a girl named Julie, how he had liked her from afar and the last time he had seen her was in this area. You tried to listen, wanting to pay him all the attention he deserved, but you couldn’t. You were jealous, riddled with defeatism that another person had beaten you to his heart. Until then, you hadn’t realised the enormity of your feelings, and it had stung for several days after as you tried to process them.

“Do you fancy something to share? Like wine… or?”

It took a second for his words to register, and you opened the menu quickly as you tried to read the names of the drinks—only drawn to the price tags that accompanied them.

You were set to ask Dex if he was sure about the evening when the waitress returned, her face pale and discomfort evident in her standing. “Sorry to interrupt, I just wanted you to know that the chicken is unavailable as is the beef, I  _do_ apologise.”

Having not had a chance to have your heart set on anything—knowing you  _wouldn’t_ be able to afford it anyway—you nodded in gratitude as she dashed away. It didn’t bother you as she vanished, ready to spread more joy to another table, the place was busy and you were shocked to find you even had a table as the queue outside continued to grow. Dex, on the other hand, looked annoyed. His eyes had turned dark, his cheeks taught as a vein protruded out of his forehead, and his thumb and index finger began to incessantly tap on the table. You could almost feel it, the uncaged rage inside of him; it thumped in your bones as you stared, watching his hand drill a beat into the cloth covering the table.

It broke your heart a little, especially as he halted at noticing your eyes, his hand suddenly rising to rub his temple as the evening effects on him clearly began to show. A part of you wanted to tell him this was just a joke, that the evening didn’t mean anything and you could just leave if he wanted. Even if you didn’t. You didn’t want him to be uncomfortable, just wanting the Dex you saw at work or briefly outside of it when he felt like it. But you hated lying, never having been very good at it—especially with him.

“Hey,” you offered, bringing his attention firmly to you as you closed your menu. “How about I take you  _somewhere_  everything is  _on_  the menu?”

Dex’s downtrodden expression worsened, and you tried to seem unaffected by it, tried to stop your heart from sinking to your feet. Digging into your bag, rummaging for some notes you pulled them out, laying them down on the table as you slowly stood before him, holding out your hand as you wiggled your fingers.

“I  _promise_  you’ll love it.”

The tip of his tongue swept over his lips, and you internally pleaded for him not to do that, not sure if your knees could take it, as he put his own menu down. Dex’s eyes had softened, the glow of the light dancing in his eyes as he stood up and placed his hand in yours.

“You have no idea what you’ve gotten yourself into,  _Poindexter_.”

The corner of his mouth rose into a smirk. “Thought we agreed on Dex.”

“Thought we agreed on  _you_  buying a meal,” you replied with a wink.

oOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoOoO

Dex felt like he had failed. It bubbled inside of him, a rage so fuelled by disappointment, it burned every fibre of his throat and chest. He was so consumed by bitterness and regret, he almost didn’t notice her hand sliding into his, the warm and soft feeling filling the gaps between his fingers.

It felt…  _right_.

“Do we hold hands now?”

She offered a faint smirk as she held his hand tighter, Dex finding his palm met hers like it was always supposed to be there. “We do when I’m going to take you somewhere much more up both of  _our_  streets.”

“Is that so,” he retorted, her laugh dancing past her lips down the street, forcing a smile to etch permanently over his face.

He briefly forgot about his disappointment, not beating himself up much more as Y/N led him down the street, around a corner, and down another road. Even as the two of them moved before the bright white sign and large glass windows of a pizza place, Dex still didn’t guess where they were heading, not until she stopped with a triumphant smile on her face.

“Are you ready for the  _Piz_ - _Education of Dex-za_ , Mr Dex?”

Rolling his eyes as her grip tightened on his fingers. “In this case, Y/N, it’s  _Mr_ Poindexter.”

She doesn’t answer, just a coy smile on her lips as she pulls him inside, the warmth hitting him before the smell. The place seems friendly, somewhere regular to her from the way she greets the man behind the counter, and Dex finds her hand briefly letting go of his.

He should welcome the feeling of her hand against his, he never holds hands, and it should feel weirder to him that her hand was there rather than it being gone. But it doesn’t. His hand feels empty without hers there, and as she steps closer to the counter, putting more distance between them, it feels even weirder that she’s further from him. So much so, Dex takes a step closer, placing an innocent hand on her hip as he tries to hear what she is saying.

Her head turns, a pink blush to her cheeks as their eyes meet, and he hated thinking it, but she was right, this was more perfect than where he picked. It was quieter, more down-to-earth, and the nerves he had originally felt—the need for perfection—somewhat dimmed, allowing his heartbeat to slow in his chest.

It doesn’t take long for her hands to be offering him plates, large slices of various pizzas being given to him as he places them on the table at the closest booth. Dex watched as she chatted animatedly with the man behind the counter, the man’s eyes occasionally finding his as he nodded at him, and Dex mirrored the action without question, feeling as though he fitted in.

“You want to sit down?” Y/N asked, turning to face him with a glint in her eye and a raised brow. “Because your knees are about to go  _weak_  from how  _good_  this pizza tastes. I have gotten you meat, I got you  _plain_  cheese, but as you can see, no broccoli, and nothing healthy.”

The man, the one who seemed to run the place, took the chance to lean over the counter. “And if they don’t make your knees weak, I’ll give you your money back. Not that I’ve let this one pay.”

“Jon always lets me have free pizza,” Y/N said, and a pang of jealousy darted through Dex as she slid into a side. “Family friend,” she clarified quickly, as though she sensed his change in mood, and Dex’s shoulders relaxed as he slid in opposite her. “I’ve come here since I could  _spell_  pizza.”

He pulled a piece of crust from the closest slice, smirking as he placed it in his mouth, a sudden explosion of tastes hammering at him. Dex had been hungry long before he had gone to the restaurant, but he hadn’t wanted to eat and possibly ruin the night. All day, all he had worried about was what he could do to cause her to be upset, how he could ruin the night. And yet he hadn’t, even when everything inside of him told him he would.

Dex had been sure that when he had removed the thirteenth shirt that the buzzing would never go away, forever haunted by the sound—the chilling sensation in his bones living with him forever—except, not when he was with her. It never seemed to rise when he was surrounded by Y/N’s presence, and he had known that far longer than he realised as the corners of his lips began to rise.  

“Why are you looking at me like that?”

Her hand pulled the end of a slice off as she tipped her head back, popping the piece past her lips, narrowing her eyes as she began to chew.

Dex, pulling off a piece off her pepperoni, grinned. “If I’m honest, I didn’t  _expect_ tonight to go down like this.”

Her amusement bounced around the place, her knee knocking into his as she crossed her legs under the table. “You mean, you didn’t expect our date to be in a pizza place around the corner from the fanciest restaurant I’ve ever been in? How narrow-minded of you.”

“I wanted tonight to be nice.” Her brows dipped as he sighed, sinking back into the booth chair as he rubbed the bridge of his nose. “I… I wanted tonight for a while, Y/N, I just… I  _really_  didn’t want to fuck up.”

Y/N licked her finger and then her thumb, her eyes narrowed as she observed him, and he wasn’t sure he liked it. He could see her thinking, thoughts completely unreadable. It worried him, he felt judged and his skin prickled. He wanted to bang his fist into the countertop, demand her to tell him what she was thinking, but he didn’t, instead clenching his fingers into his palms, cutting the skin and leaving half-moons to remember it by.

“What makes you think you’ve ruined tonight, Dex? Huh?” Y/N asked unswervingly. “Because, where I’m sat, I’m having a  _fantastic_  time.”

Dex hesitated with a response, staring at her as though she had sprouted an extra head. “You…  _are_?”

She nodded, licking her lips teasingly as she pulled the crust off his slice before taking a bite, taking a purposeful long time to chew. “I am.” Brushing her fingers together, the dust from the pizza falling to the plate, Y/N arched forward. “I don’t care  _where_  we eat, Dex, as long as I’m with you. I don’t need fancy places or more forks than I have hands for, I just… I just wanted to be with you, I like being with you.”

Dex was sure his heart was about to soar out of his chest. A light gleaming in her eyes, suddenly making reality hit him square in the chest. She was his star, the light that would  _guide_  him; the very thing he both needed and wanted, all at once. 

“God, I  _could_  kiss you.”

His eyes widened before he could stop them, the words having met her ears before he could even retract them—not as though he regretted them. He watched on tenterhooks as she seemed to process what he had said, her eyes warming as her tongue licked her lips.

“Maybe  _you_  should,” Y/N replied, a flirty smile accompanying her words.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an archived piece originally posted on the tumblr, [mvtthewmurdvck](https://mvtthewmurdvck.tumblr.com/).


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